


Night Drives

by mothteeth



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Nightmares, Platonic Relationships, Sort of suicidal ideation, animal death mention, death mention, implied self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothteeth/pseuds/mothteeth
Summary: Sometimes at night you just have to get out of the house, and those nights it's important to have good company.





	1. Stan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really personal fic for me. I hope y'all get something out of reading I got out of writing it

The first time the restlessness and bad impulses take hold of you in Gravity Falls, you freeze. Where are you supposed to go? Would anyone be willing to go with you? Should you just go alone? If you go alone there is nothing tangible preventing you from wrapping your car around a telephone pole, and, in this type of state, you need all the help that you can get. So a passenger is a necessity, but who? It’s 11:30. Is anyone awake right now? Would anyone be upset if you woke them up? You get up and pull on jeans and a hoodie, rummaging through your purse for your phone and car keys before stepping into the hallway towards the kitchen. Maybe a glass of water will help you make decisions.

When you get to the kitchen, Stan is already at the table, a mug of hot chocolate sitting in front of him. “Oh. Hey.” You nod, trying not to let your surprise show. It's not especially late but he should probably be asleep either way. He grunts in response, a quiet noise of acknowledgement. “Everything okay?” you ask. You recognize the ridiculousness of you asking someone else if they’re okay, but, that’s not outside of your usual response to your own issues.

“Yeah. Jus’ not ready t’go t’bed yet.” You sense something more is going on, but you don’t ask. 

“This is kind of silly, but, uh, do you want to go for a drive?” Your eyes are glued to the floor, only glancing up once through your lashes when you ask. 

“That actually sounds pretty good.” Stan stretches before getting up from his chair. He drains his mug in one swallow and places it in the sink. He nods for you to go ahead. 

Once the door is closed and locked behind you, Stan starts for the El Diablo. “I was thinking I’d drive. If that’s okay, I mean.” He shrugs, following you to your car. You driving is kind of the whole point. There’s something soothing in the methodological process of driving. Eyes on the road, keep to the right, watch your speed, use your blinker, turn left, turn right, merge lanes. The road passing under your tires feels good. It's an energy release that doesn’t involve anything particularly stupid. It’s sure as shit safer than taking a 3am walk in the neighborhood like you did when you were a kid. 

You realize you have absolutely no idea where you’re going to go. At home, there’s enough city for things to be open at this hour, but, in Gravity Falls, everything closes at 6 on the dot. It’s actually kind of suffocating. Small town life, while it has its charms, is something you’re ill-suited for. “You wouldn’t happen to know if anything was open at this hour, would you?” 

“Can’t say that I do.” 

“How did you survive here? You don’t seem like the small town type.” you ask, already scrolling through your phone to find something, anything, that’s open. There’s a McDonald’s open until 3am a half hour away. It’ll have to do. 

“Didn’t have much of a choice. There was definitely a learning curve, but you figure it out. ‘Sides, there are much worse places to end up, trust me.” Something about the set of his jaw when he says that prevents you from asking. 

“Looks like the closest thing open is a McDonald’s. Feel up to it?”

“You payin’?”

“Obviously.” 

“Then I’m up for anything.”

Before you put the car in drive, you take a few minutes to plug in your phone and put on some music. You hand him your phone, “I’m assigning you DJ and navigator.” 

“Alright. What am I doing, exactly?”

“Keep up with the directions and skip the songs I tell you to.” 

“That I can do.” 

“Good.” You put the car in drive and start following the GPS to McDonald’s. 

As you drive, you’re singing along to what’s playing, and it's tending towards the angsty side of your music. One particular song that you love comes on, and you crank up the volume. Stan jumps and gives you a look like you’ve got three heads. You turn beet red and turn it almost all the way down, embarrassed to be caught being weird and mentally ill. Stan doesn’t ask, he just turns it back up, loud, but not as loud as it was. You shoot him a sidelong glance with a small, grateful smile. 

You hem and haw with asking why he’s up before deciding that, yes, you’re going to ask. As you open your mouth to ask, Stan starts talking. “So why are we out at this hour?” 

“I can’t just go for a drive?” You ask. He gives you a look that tells you he’s obviously not buying your half assed dodge. You sigh, “Alright. Sometimes I just... need to move. Need to get out. I get restless and if I don’t expend the energy... I just need something to do like this. And driving, believe it or not, is the best way I’ve found. The least destructive, anyway.”

“Makes sense. You’re okay, though?” 

“Eh. I will be. Probably,” You give him an unconvincing grin, “What are you doing up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” You let the silence hang and look over to him, nodding for him to continue. He sighs. “I’m having nightmares again.” Your face softens. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Didn’t want to bother ya. I thought the cocoa would help but... Didn’t really. I’d’ve probably been up all night even if you didn’t want to go out.” 

“You aren’t a bother, I promise. It’s awful that you’re having nightmares, but I will say I’m very grateful for the company.” 

“I aim to please.” He winks. You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. You push him playfully towards the window. 

The McDonald’s lot is all but empty when you pull in. The boy behind the counter looks bored as he wipes it down, likely for the 15th time in the past hour. You’ve done night shifts. They’re usually uneventful. The restaurant is empty at this hour, but that’s good. It’s quiet. A liminal space, surreal in it's otherworldliness. You think yourself silly, it’s a goddamn McDonald’s in the middle of nowhere, Oregon, but it’s strange and foreign in the late night hours. The fluorescent lights make it less real, and the hum of them feels like tinnitus, unending and just barely there. It disappears when you try to focus in on it. At the counter, you order a strawberry milkshake and an order of fries. Stan gets the same. It’s out momentarily, and then you’re sitting at a high top table in the far corner, near the big windows in the front. You stare out at the stars, almost uncomfortable in the stillness of the night. Even after the time you’ve been here, the quiet sneaks up on you, unnerving in it's unfamiliarity. It’s nights like this when you miss the constant thrum of the city. The clarity of the night sky is the only thing that you would miss. Without the light pollution, you can see thousands of stars. You’d never seen the full beauty of the night sky until you came here, where the stars come out, bright and strong, every night. That constant is reassuring. The stars are always there; even when nothing else feels real, the stars are always there. 

By the time you drag your attention back to reality, back to the restaurant and Stan and the table under your hands, Stan has finished his fries and is looking at you curiously. Not in a confused or condescending way, almost like the way he’d watch a movie, or examine a painting. Exploratory, admiring, maybe a little concerned. You realize that he’s never seen you like this, slightly unraveled, a little too much going on under your skin. “I... Sorry. I got a bit distracted. How are you feeling?” 

“No need to be sorry. I’m feeling better. How’re you holdin’ up?” 

“I’m okay. I feel like a person again, and that’s something.” You shrug, taking a sip of your milkshake. You push your fries towards Stan, not particularly hungry. He doesn’t hesitate to snatch a few, popping a handful into his mouth. You watch him chew slowly, and swallow. Your attention drawn to the shape of his lips, the muscles working in his jaw and neck. It isn’t intentional. It’s just where your gaze lands. Luckily for you, Stan doesn’t call you out on it. Maybe it's the look in your eye, or the tremble of your hands around your cup, but he can see you’re in a fragile state. He’s been able to read you like a book from the start. When you realize what you’ve been doing, you’re grateful for his tact. 

“What’s been bothering you?” You ask before you can stop yourself. Stan looks up, surprise on his face for an instant before masterfully covering it back up again.

“‘M not sure to be totally honest. I just wake up, sweating and gasping. I can’t remember anything about them aside from feeling like I can’t get out. I know it sounds stupid.” 

“It isn’t stupid. Nightmares are fucking terrifying. No wonder you can’t sleep. Please, wake me up when that happens. Please? I want to be there for you.” 

“You don’t have to. I can handle it. ‘M too old to keep freaking out ‘bout a goddamn dream.” 

“I want to. It’s okay. Nightmares suck. For everyone. They don’t discriminate, and you have more than enough nightmare fuel for a lifetime.” 

“We’ve all got demons, kid.”

“Yeah, and we all have a hard time dealing with them. Hence the word demon. And I know you’ve conquered more than your fair share, but it’s okay to need help once in a while, and I want to be there for you. You’re so good to me, helping with nightmares, letting me vent, coming with me tonight. Please let me return the favor? Just a little bit?” 

“There’s no need for a return. I want to do those things. I want t’be there for ya.” 

“And I want to be there for you. Please?” 

“I’ll do my best,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, pausing at the back of his neck. You take the hand resting on the table in yours. 

“Thank you.” You press a kiss to the back of his hand. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

“That’s probably not a great idea, doll. It’s late.” 

“Please? I need to.” you squeeze his hand. He sighs, but stands up, taking your garbage to the trash can to dump it. He holds the door open for you. 

The breeze makes the night chilly, but Stan’s hand is warm in yours. You pull your hood up with your free hand, the other preoccupied with interlacing your fingers with his. The leaves on the ground crunch underfoot, early to fall and dry up. The silence is companionable, but tinged with worry. You’re still a mess, and, with his hand in yours, he can feel the tremors. 

Before you’re even fully aware of doing so, you’re talking. “When I was like 16, I had a guinea pig that died and I know that that’s ridiculous but I was really attached to him because he was my pet and you know how that is. So, anyway, it's like 9 at night and my whole family is devastated over this little guinea pig and I call my boyfriend at the time and he yells at me because he has a stupid standardized test the next day so I call my best friend who went to the same damn school and my friend drops everything to bring my family ice cream and the only thing my ex did was berate my friend for being out so late before a test.

“I know none of that makes any sense and I’m rambling but what I’m getting at is thank you for picking me. I know this is ridiculous and stupid to go out at night and drive to a McDonald’s in the middle of nowhere when we both have work tomorrow but I’m so grateful that you care enough about me to pick me despite how stupid this is.” And now you’re crying and you can’t stop and Stan is pulling you into a hug and shushing you gently and it’s just so nice to have someone to talk to. 

When you finally pull away, you tilt your head to look Stan in the eye. Sometimes the sight of him takes your breath away, and this is one of those times. The moonlight illuminating his face just so, the near halo of stars around him, the background of an endless night sky, it’s all so much right now. The look on his face is still one of concern, but it’s melting into one of affection, likely due to what you can only assume is your own awestruck face. “I love you,” you finally say. 

“I love you too, sugar.” He pulls you close to your chest again. You can feel the tears well up again, this time from gratitude and love. 

Every feeling right now nearly bursts out of your skin. You tilt your head up again to kiss him, soft and tentative. Stan let’s you set the pace, and your heart swells again. You can’t believe how patient he is with you, putting up with all your emotional baggage. Not that he doesn’t have his own, but you still have a hard time wrapping your head around someone wanting to be there for you the way you are for others. You’re still not used to love without strings attached, and it still leaves you dumbfounded sometimes. Even when you’re at your lowest, or times like now, when you’re clinging to reality by a thread, he tells you how much he loves you. He’s still there for you. And you can never express how grateful you are for that. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Stan speaks, “You’re shivering, doll. Let’s get you home, yeah?” Without letting you respond (not that you’re capable of words right now anyway) he puts his arm around you to lead you back to your car. “You’re okay to drive?” He asks. You nod, pulling the keys out and unlocking the door. 

Even during the drive you can’t talk. It’s still too much and you can’t make your throat and mouth cooperate, but that’s okay. Stan fills in for you while you’re still trying to pull yourself together. You aren’t there enough to actually process what he’s saying, but the constant reassurance of his gravelly voice keeps you in the car with him. His hand rests on your knee, reassuring and solid; another tether to the world around you. How did you manage to find someone so good to you? 

The Mystery Shack is a welcome sight when you get back. Driving has helped, and you feel yourself settling back into your skin, significantly more tired than you were an hour ago. Stan unlocks the door and ushers you in. You head straight for bed, not bothering to do more than take off your jeans and sweatshirt before crawling into bed. Stan follows closely behind you, and settles into his spot as the big spoon, one arm under your neck, the other wrapped protectively around your waist. It feels good, safe. He’s so warm. You nuzzle into his arm, pressing yourself more firmly into him. “Thank you,” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“No need to thank me, kid. You deserve it.” And it hits you like a ton of bricks. You do deserve kindness. You’ve always deserved it. It’s just taken you a long time to find someone who knows that. You’re in tears again. You roll over to press your face into Stan’s chest, sobbing again. He soothingly rubs your back. “It’s okay, sugar. I’m here.” 

You eventually get yourself back under control and you feel better than you have in a long time. Lighter. Not that you’ve been unhappy the past few months, but you feel like you’ve finally shaken off a weight. Maybe that’s just for tonight, or maybe it’ll stick. Either way, you’re starting to fall asleep, safe and secure in strong arms. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’ve finally found someone worth the love you have to give.


	2. Ford

You stare up at the ceiling, not actually seeing anything, just staring. Stan is snoring gently next to you, the steady rise and fall of his chest keeping you together. He hasn’t been sleeping well, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up just to deal with yet another restless night. Instead, you pick your way carefully out of the bed. Stan stirs softly, mumbling out your name with a voice thick with sleep. “Go back to sleep, honey. I’m okay.” He grumbles, but rolls over and goes back to sleep. Phew. A glass of water will probably help, at the very least, you think. 

The light is on in the kitchen when you get there, which surprises you. It’s pretty damn late. At the counter, Ford is pouring himself a cup of coffee. You clear your throat to let him know you’re there, startling him into nearly dropping his mug. “_____, hello there.” 

“What are you doing up at this hour?” you ask. 

“What do you mean-” he looks at his watch, it's just about 3am, “Damn, time must have gotten away from me. I was working on something down in the lab, but I ran out of coffee. Wait. What are you doing up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep. I’m going for a drive, I think. You should come with me.” you desperately want him to agree, but you can’t actually ask him or say that. Instead, you try to bury it under a casual suggestion. “Come on, you need to get some fresh air.” you insist. Maybe not so casual. 

“Well.... Alright then,” he still looks skeptical, but he’s agreed, which is more than enough for you. 

You lock the door behind you and unlock your car with the remote in your hand. You slide in behind the wheel, and Ford takes his spot in the passenger side. You flip on the radio, content in listening to the late night stations. “So, what’s this all about?” Ford finally asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Sometimes I get a little restless. Driving helps.” 

“Ah,” he’s not satisfied by your answer, but decides that it would be rude to press. “Where did you plan on going?” 

“Not much is open right now, but there are a couple 24 hour convenience stores around. Figured I’d go grab a pint of ice cream or something. Sound good?” 

“I didn’t bring my wallet with me. I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

“No sweat, it’s on me. I dragged you out here, after all.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I am.” 

“Alright, then.” 

In a matter of minutes, you pull into the parking lot for the convenience store. You put the car in park, shut it off, and get out of the car. You stretch out, letting yourself breathe in the November air. It’s too cold to be wearing what you’re wearing, but it’s nice to be able to feel something. Ford takes a moment to get out of the car, and you lock it with your remote before walking to the door.

A bell dings above your head when the two of you step in. You beeline straight for the ice cream, examining the options they have. Yes! They have Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, your favorite. You grab a pint and tell Ford to pick his own. He checks over the case for just a minute before grabbing a pint of mint chocolate chip. “I knew you were a mint chip kinda guy.” 

“What makes you think that?” he gives you a look, raising his eyebrows. 

“Just a hunch,” you shrug. You really don’t have a better answer than that. You grab both pints and put them on the counter to cash out. The bored cashier rings you out, you grab a couple plastic spoons from the container next to the coffee, and you’re out the door. 

You unlock your car again and get in. “You don’t mind just sitting here for a bit, right?” 

“Not at all.” You hand Ford his ice cream and crack open your own, digging the spoon in for a bite. 

“The best part is when you get, like, a whole cherry,” you say as you carefully excavate to get exactly that. 

“I’ll take your work for it. I’m not a fan of fruit in my ice cream.” 

“Really? Not even, like, strawberry?” 

“Not even strawberry.” 

“My brothers are like that. I used to make it a point to ask for strawberry so I could get the whole carton to myself. Pretty much anything with fruit in it was mine, so I took advantage.” 

“How long has it been since you saw them?” he asks.

“Oh. Uh, a while.” 

“Do you miss them?” he looks lost in thought. Looks like you aren’t the only one who gets a little distracted at this hour. 

“Yeah, I do. A lot. We’ve always been pretty close. I mean, one of them moved up to Seattle, which isn’t all that far when you think about it, but my youngest brother is back home on the east coast. I get a lot of texts and stuff, but it’s not the same.” You have an idea about why he’s asking, but aren’t about to press. 

“I’m glad you appreciate them.” 

“I do. Very much. Maybe I’ll take a trip home. I’m sure my parents would love to grill me about what I’ve been doing out here.”

“You should.” Ford takes another bite of his ice cream, still looking out the windshield. 

“Do, uh, do you mind if I, um, lean on you or something? It, um, helps me ground myself. But if it makes you uncomfortable I won’t. Actually, uh, forget I said anything.” 

“If it’ll help, that’s alright. Ah, if you want to.” 

“Thank you. Um, I really appreciate it.” You adjust in your seat to lean your back against his arm, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. He’s warm and solid under you, and you can feel the expand and contract of his ribcage as he breathes. It’s helping you pull yourself together. 

The two of you sit quietly for a few minutes, eating your ice cream. “I know that this is really out there, and I don’t want to bring up anything painful or anything, but I just wanted to tell you that I know what it’s like to not get into your dream school. It’s... pretty reassuring to know that even you went through that. That sounded meaner than I intended. Sorry, I’ll shut up.” You turn your head away, embarrassed to have said anything at all. 

“Kid, I’ve been through a lot. That doesn’t bother me anymore. If you want to talk though, I’m all ears.” 

“When I was finishing up high school, I was in a really bad place, real anxious. A total mess. Anyway, I was terrified of going to college for a long time, but then I decided on this one school because it had an immunology undergrad program, which is what I wanted, so I went through the whole thing. I applied early, took the ACTs and SATs and did really well on both. I put together my application despite everything I was afraid of, and, at that point, that was everything, and I sent it in. I thought I had it in the bag. Most of the letters I got before that one came in were acceptances. I mean, I didn’t get into any Ivy Leagues or anything, but I didn’t expect to. I applied to Brown just because my guidance counselor wouldn’t leave me alone about it. Anyway, my point is I got in everywhere else, the local state schools, a couple privates, all that. Then my letter from the one school I wanted to go to came in. I was so excited, tore it open and everything. And I was waitlisted. I didn’t get it. I was crushed. I still don’t know what more I could’ve done to get in. And at that point I couldn’t even talk about it because the stupid guy I was with didn’t get into MIT which surprised a grand total of no one, but I’m getting sidetracked. My point is, I get it. It’s hard. And I’m just glad to know I’m not alone.” 

“You definitely aren’t. It happens. You’re doing pretty well for yourself from what I can see, and Stanley seems to find you rather impressive.”

“Oh, ha, thanks.” You flush, still embarrassed from your outbursts. “Do you want to head back?” 

“If you’re all set, sure.” 

“You need to go to bed,” you chide.

“You’re still up, too.” he points out. 

“This is nothing. Once I was up for 40 hours straight between work and classes when I was in college.” 

“Impressive. I’ve definitely done a couple of those in my time. You should still try to go to bed.”

“I will if you do.” 

“Fine,” he sighs, giving you an exasperated look. 

The Shack is still dark and quiet when you get back. The sun is starting to come over the horizon, but it's still a few hours until you really need to be up. You make sure Ford goes to his room to rest before heading back to Stan’s room. You shimmy out of your jeans and hoodie, trading them for your soft pajamas before carefully climbing over Stan to get back into bed. You settle yourself under the covers as Stan puts his arm around you, still fast asleep. You snuggle in closer, grateful to have someone there, something solid to hold onto. You fall asleep in minutes.


End file.
